Close to Home
by fiesa
Summary: She's in this weird place where everything they say sounds like it has layers upon layers upon layers of meaning, and every case hits just a little bit too close to home. Drabble- Kensi, Deeks. Post-ep to s05ep22.


**Close to Home**

_Summary: She's in this weird place where everything they say sounds like it has layers upon layers upon layers of meaning, and every case hits just a little bit too close to home. Drabble- Kensi, Deeks. Post-ep to s05ep22._

_Warning: Drabble._

_Set: post-ep to s05ep 22 – One More Chance. _

_Disclaimer: Standards apply._

* * *

"That's because he's amazing," Deeks says and lifts his beer. "To Sam."

"Mr. Hanna did show a remarkable sense of intuition today," Granger agreed and took a swig of his own drink.

"Ah-HA! You admitted. Bet you didn't believe him in the first place."

The dim light of the bar is casting shadows on Deeks' face. He looks relaxed, the edges of his blue eyes crinkling as he grins at their boss. His hair is his usual horrid bed-head and Kensi likes the way it frames his face. She likes the way his eyes gleam as he smiles at her over his beer glass and the way the shadows shift on his face when he moves. His face is familiar. Kensi likes it very much.

Perhaps too much.

"Ahhh," Deeks sighs when they walk out towards her car. "A good day. The bad guys ended up in prison, the innocent victims are saved. Good has trumped over evil. What else could you wish for?"

"That's a rhetorical question, right?"

"I must say, Kenselina, you surprise me. Didn't think you knew what rhetorical means."

The car door slams behind her as they get into her car and she considers a) punching him in the shoulder, b) kissing him senseless or c) throwing him out and leaving him on the sidewalk. She settles for a withering look because he expects a) and at least the threat of c), and b), well, that is just not safe enough from where they're standing right now.

"But to answer my own question," Deeks continues, "Perhaps a good night of sleep would be in order for the hero. Or a late dinner and a shower, seeing as we've been bombed away at once again. An event during which, I would like to emphasize, I did save your life, and you haven't thanked me yet. So how about a shower, and late dinner, _and_ a good night's sleep? I'll be going to bed with the knowledge that I saved my partner's life today, for which I should totally be honored and called a hero. I'll probably have especially nice dreams…"

Kensi pretends being too busy watching the traffic. His last comment would have made her snort in the past, now she can only search for words that refuse to be found.

"Hey, no acidic comeback? No sarcastic reply? What's wrong, oh my partner?" Deeks leans forward and smirks at her, and sees the grin that's suddenly tugging at her lips. "You're smiling."

"I'm not," she lies.

"You totally are!" He smiles, a smile that is charming and sunny and _oh-so_-familiar. "You're prettier when you smile, do you know that?"

Deeks is just like that. He distributes compliments like other people dish out insults: honestly, wholeheartedly and with the ease of subconsciousness. Kensi has noticed before but these days she has become strangely conscious of it. It is noticeable, at least to her, and she wonders whether others see it, too. Whether Deeks feels the same. He acts like nothing has changed since they returned from Afhanistan. Since he returned her knife. They are partners and even friends, but nothing more. The knowledge is a dull ache somewhere in the region where her heart is.

"Of course you're always pretty. Especially when compared to Callen and Sam. Bless their hearts, these men have instincts like animals, but they're no beauties. Nell, on the other hand…"

Kensi concentrates on the road.

She's in this weird place where everything he says sounds like it has layers upon layers upon layers of meaning, and every case hits just a little bit too close to home. Simple phrases like "we're partners" and "you're prettier when you smile" make her heart pick up speed. His announcement that morning, that he was doing a thorough spring-clean, somehow felt like Kensi, too, was some old baggage that had to be cleaned away in order to allow Deeks to start anew. Every one of his glances has a hidden meaning she cannot decipher and it irks her: wasn't she able to read him completely before? Now she wonders why he looks at her, whether he wonders how he could ever have felt more for her than casual friendship, whether she has something in her face or whether he thinks that he would like to kiss her. And his comments on children, before. So he does love kids, and he wants some, sometime in the future, but he doesn't want them with her? Or does he want her, but does not want children with her? Why? Does he think she's all messed up? _Does_ he want her, and in what way? When he acts all surprised at her hugging and kissing him, does he do so because Callen and Sam are listening in or does he really not want her touching him?

"Kens? Kensi? Me, here, attention? I said you were pretty – scratch that. You're gorgeous. Except when you're drooling in your sleep-"

He sees her face and something in it makes him stop short. "Okay, I will stop talking now."

And why did he stop talking? He usually never cared for her feelings, peppered her with insults and veiled compliments until she silenced him violently. _Don't over-analyze, Blye. _Kensi pulls herself together with an amount of strength that shouldn't be necessary for a simple ride with a good friend and partner.

"So if you think Granger is that attractive maybe you should hitch a ride with him, not with me."

His smirk is all but blinding. "That's my girl."

At his apartment, she stops in front of the door and Deeks unlatches his seat-belt and gets out of her car. He leans in through the open passenger side window and flashes her a trade-mark Deeks smile.

"Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow?"

Why is it a question?

"Night." Kensi cannot help but smile back. The sheath of her knife digs into her side like a reminder.

"Oh, the sweet dreams," Deeks sing-songs as he walks towards the entrance, fumbling for his keys.

"Idiot," she calls after him.

"And you love it," he shoots back without turning, waving loosely over his shoulder. Kensi freezes for an undefined number of heart beats until she remembers how to breathe, sets the blinker, pulls into the traffic and forces herself not to look back.

Sleep evades her that night. Kensi lies in her bed, awake, and stares at the ceiling. Instead, she thinks. She wonders what she would do if it had been her kid that had been kidnapped and used against her. And whether she would be able to forgive Deeks, had he allowed their kids to be abducted. She wonders whether it will be like this now and forever: as if their relationship has taken a time-skip two years back to a place where she is Kensi and he is Deeks and they are partners and best friends and drinking buddies and nothing more. She wonders if she can forget his hands on her body and his lips on hers and how he looked down on her, hovering above her completely naked body. She wonders whether she will be able to forget his expression: so full of wonder, and amazement, and desire. His familiar, honest, incredibly blue eyes have accompanied her through the hell that was Afghanistan and back, have kept her alive when she thought nothing else could. She wonders what is the right thing to do.

Kensi wonders whether she can fall out of love again, and what it might cost.


End file.
